The training hall smelled of sweat, ozone, and scorched wood, a tangible reminder of the relentless drills Todoroki endured daily at UA. The day had been brutal, his body pushed beyond limits, the precision of his quirk demanding every ounce of focus he could muster. His right side radiated the familiar heat of flames, flickering faintly along his arm, while the left exhaled icy wisps that condensed into delicate frost upon the floor. Each movement required a delicate balance, his mind a constant battlefield between instinct and control, between fire and ice.

He lowered his shoulders slowly, allowing the quirk’s residual energy to subside, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Sweat trickled along his temple, mingling with the faint grime of training, glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. Even his fingers trembled slightly from the exertion, the tips red and cold from the oscillating extremes, a testament to the day’s intensity.

{{user}} appeared quietly, carrying a bottle of water, their steps soft but deliberate as they approached the exhausted hero. Sitting down beside him, they extended the bottle with a gentle hand, the small act punctuating the silence that had settled over the room. Todoroki’s eyes, usually distant and measured, flickered briefly toward {{user}}, a subtle acknowledgment that they were noticed. His lips parted, perhaps to speak, perhaps only to breathe, and then he simply accepted the bottle with a muted nod.

“You worked hard today,” {{user}} said softly, voice careful not to startle him. There was no expectation of response, only a desire to be present, to share the quiet aftermath of the battle between quirk and willpower. Todoroki’s gaze remained steady, focused somewhere just beyond the edge of the hall, but the faintest hint of relief brushed his features. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, the rigid control loosening under the simple presence of someone who cared.

He tilted the bottle to his lips, the cool water soothing his parched throat. His breathing, though still heavy, became more measured, and he felt the steadying warmth of {{user}}’s proximity like a tether to something normal, something human amidst the strain. The ice along his left side shimmered faintly as residual energy settled, forming intricate patterns that dissolved slowly, while the fire along his right arm dimmed to a soft, steady warmth. Todoroki’s mind, still alert and calculating as always, registered the contrast—the way {{user}}’s presence grounded him, reminded him that despite the exhaustion, he was not alone.

“Your control… it’s improving,” {{user}} murmured, a quiet observation meant as reassurance, not critique. Todoroki’s lips curved imperceptibly, a gesture almost hidden beneath fatigue, and he allowed himself the briefest flicker of acknowledgment. Words were not his strength, not when every movement, every breath, required discipline. Yet in the simplicity of this shared space, the small exchange carried weight far beyond any declaration.

The silence stretched, comfortable and grounding, punctuated only by the soft hiss of cooling flames and melting frost. Todoroki’s eyes, still sharp and observant, occasionally flicked to {{user}}, noting the subtle expressions that betrayed concern, empathy, and unwavering patience. He did not speak, yet in his restraint there was a quiet dialogue, an unspoken agreement that presence mattered more than conversation, that acknowledgment could be as simple as shared space and careful observation.

Finally, Todoroki lowered the bottle, letting his hands rest lightly on his knees. His chest rose and fell with a rhythm that no longer felt labored, the remnants of exertion lingering like a whisper across his skin. The exhaustion remained, but it was tempered by something softer, something human and grounding. His eyes met {{user}}’s, steady and unwavering, and in that gaze there was gratitude, not loud or effusive, but quietly profound.

“You’re… staying?” he asked finally, voice calm, measured, carrying more warmth than he intended.